Do Not Open 'Til Christmas by Sierra Donovan (21)

Chloe opened her eyes to the sight of white, this time in a much more pleasant context.

A lacy canopy hung over her head, and a thick comforter covered her. Taking in the room around her, she was better able to appreciate the bridal suite at The Snowed Inn this morning. It was the only room they’d had vacant on Christmas Eve.

“We put a cot in The Man Cave for Bret,” Mandy had told her last night. “We figured he’d be more comfortable there anyway.”

Chloe sat up straight, and numerous muscles screamed in complaint, probably sore from all the shivering.

It was Christmas morning, and Bret was here in the hotel.

Her mom had put her in a hot tub after checking her over last night. She’d offered to take Chloe home, if that was what she wanted. Chloe had demurred, saying she’d rather just take advantage of Mandy and Jake’s kind offer and go straight to bed.

And, though she’d rather her mother not guess at it, she wanted to see if she’d read Bret’s lips correctly last night. And find out what it meant.

Bret hadn’t said much last night, understandably, and she had no idea where things stood between them now. One harrowing adventure in a blizzard didn’t necessarily change everything else. First there hadn’t been time to think. Then, on the drive home, there hadn’t been time to talk.

She climbed gingerly out of bed, dressed in the long T-shirt Tiffany and Kate had brought her last night along with a few other supplies. Her feet sank into soft, thick carpet.

As she made her way to the bathroom, two objects on the floor caught her eye. Chloe bent to pick up her cell phone and a copy of the Tall Pine Gazette, both slim enough to be pushed under her door. No corporate-style hotel doors or key cards here at The Snowed Inn.

On top of the Gazette was a note on a slip of the hotel’s note paper. Chloe recognized Bret’s bold, slanted print:

The front page of the Gazette had a big WHITE CHRISTMAS banner, and news of the blizzard had knocked her snowman article and photo down to the bottom half of the front page. Running down the right-hand column was a brief story, written by Chuck, about last night’s rescue effort. It was presented with a minimum of fuss and muss—and only a couple of punctuation errors—but Chloe doubted Bret was thrilled that Chuck had put their adventure in the news.

Bret’s note didn’t shed much light on what he wanted to say to her, and she wasn’t entirely sure what to say to him. Only that she was anxious to find out.

She found the bag her roommates had thrown together and hurried to get ready.

* * *

Bret waited in the alcove at the end of the second-story hallway, looking out through a pair of glass-paned balcony doors. The view of last night’s snowfall was spectacular under the morning sun, and the storm had left behind a fiercely clear blue sky. Bret had cracked one of the balcony doors open briefly as he contemplated talking to Chloe outside. Uh, no. Beautiful as it was, it was still freezing. She’d had more than enough of that last night.

He hadn’t slept much. Everything he couldn’t think of to say in the truck had been jostling around his brain all night. Even now, he struggled to put his thoughts into some kind of order.

Bret looked outside again. From here, he could see the chimney from one of the fireplaces in the lobby, and the rooftop of the first floor with its immaculate blanket of snow.

Almost immaculate.

Near the chimney, he saw what looked like—but couldn’t be—footprints. As if they’d been left there by a pair of booted shoes.

That was just what it looked like.

Maybe Jake had done it for Mandy. Except that it had still been snowing when Bret and Chloe got in last night. It would take one ambitious guy to create a set of footsteps on the rooftop after the snow finally stopped.

He reminded himself that Jake really loved Mandy. But that still didn’t explain exactly how he would have accomplished it.

Bret turned and faced the Christmas tree that decorated the little alcove. Bret had asked Jake if there was a place around here, other than a hotel room, where a boy could be alone with a girl. As it happened, little nooks like this one were among the features Jake and Mandy had taken into account when they designed the inn. There was room to duck between the tree and the balcony for a little privacy, and an end table where two cups of coffee waited.

Before he could go insane from waiting, a text came through on his phone.

* * *

Chloe followed Bret’s directions to the end of the hall, trying to keep her steps measured. He stood beside a Christmas tree that dripped with ornaments, tinsel, and tiny white lights. He wore a gray sweatshirt that didn’t look like Bret; probably a loaner from Jake. With the light from the paned glass behind him, she couldn’t read his face.

Her heart in her throat, her feet carried her down the hall toward him, picking up speed with a will of their own. Just as she reached him, he picked up a large mug and held it out to her. She stopped short before she crashed into him and accepted the cup.

“Thanks.” She wafted the mug under her nose. Coffee with cream. She sipped it. “I was kind of hoping for Mandy’s hot chocolate.”

“I asked about that. Jake said it was better if we were both clearheaded. Whatever that means.”

“As long as it’s hot. I never want to be that cold again.”

“You won’t be, if I have anything to say about it.”

That sounded promising. Chloe lowered her cup and stared at him.

Don’t get too excited. She reminded herself of all Bret’s admonitions. Her heart might be gung-ho in big red capital letters, but that didn’t mean everything had changed. Even though it was Christmas morning and Bret’s gaze looked direct and purposeful as he set his coffee cup down on the little table and locked eyes with hers.

“Feel okay?” The bland words didn’t match his intent expression.

She nodded. “Fine. Fingers and toes in working order.” She flexed her fingers around her cup as if to illustrate. The truth was, she was fidgeting.

“I did have a cup of that hot chocolate with your parents last night, by the way. Mandy insisted. I don’t know when she and Jake ever sleep. Anyway, your mom and dad are great people. And they were amazingly kind about your . . . adventure.”

“You stayed up until my mom left my room?” She’d barely been able to keep her eyes open until her mother left.

“I needed to find out how you were doing. And since I was the one who sent you up to Mount Douglas, I wasn’t just going to slink off to my room. I needed to own up. I’m sure I took a few years off their lives. Maybe yours, too.” Bret drew a deep breath. “It could have turned out so differently. I never should have sent you up there yesterday. I’d ask why you didn’t come straight home, but I know why.”

She bit her lip.

“Chloe . . .” He closed his eyes briefly—whether to avoid her gaze or to gather his thoughts, she wasn’t sure—then opened them again. “I know I keep pushing you back with both hands. It’s a bad habit. I’ve gotten pretty good at holding people at arm’s length. It felt so much safer, keeping people at a distance. Playing the objective journalist. It was all just an excuse.”

He reached up, brushing at a strand of hair on her forehead. Chloe held perfectly still, afraid to interrupt.

“It’s funny,” Bret said. “Before you showed up, I pretty much thought I was okay. Then you showed up and everything came spilling out in a few weeks.”

“Bret, it’s—”

“Shh.” He cracked a wry smile. “I’ve been working through this stuff in my head for hours and I need to get it out while I still have the guts. Then you can let me know . . . whether it makes any sense.”

His eyes, behind the glasses, had lost all their sharpness for the moment. Chloe was pretty sure she was reading them right.

“Last night I had to get to you,” he said. “Nothing else mattered. I even left Chuck in charge of the paper, for heaven’s sake.”

“It looks like he did a pretty good job.”

“Yeah . . . just don’t look too closely at the commas.” Bret shook his head. “Never mind. Back to you.”

His eyes searched her face, and she held still under the weight of his gaze. “You’re way too important to me, and I know I’ve been hard to deal with. But if you’re not totally fed up, I think it’s probably time to get over the fact that I’m your boss. Your temporary boss.”

She nodded, set her cup down, and stepped toward him.

“But.” Bret rested his hands on her shoulders, gently holding her back. “I want you to think about this first. You need to know what you’re getting into with me.”

His thumbs made soft, light circles against her shoulders. That was supposed to help her think? “I’m a fixer-upper, and that’s not your job. I need to do the work myself. But if you have any patience left, I’m selfish enough to ask you to try to bear with me. Because you’re smart, you’re beautiful . . . and you know how to get at the heart of things better than anyone I’ve ever known. I know my life isn’t perfect, and it never will be. But I think I’m ready to take a chance on going through the rough stuff with someone else.” Bret rested a hand on her cheek. “People don’t change all at once, and we need to go slow,” he said. “But I know how I feel. I love you.”

Chloe waited a beat. Bret was waiting, too.

She raised her eyebrows. “Do I get a say?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.” She tried to move forward, but Bret still held her back. “I don’t think I need much time. Bret, I love you. You’re funny, you’re smart, you’re loyal, and you care about people way more than you want to admit. You didn’t fool me. Not all the time, anyway.” A smile spread across her face. “I also happen to know you’re pretty passionate.”

“About that. I made myself a promise.” Bret relaxed and moved closer. “I told myself if I ever got a chance to kiss you again, no one’s pushing anyone away. Is it a deal?”

Her eyes misted. “Deal.”

“Good.” He pulled her to him at last. “Because we happen to be standing under mistletoe. I don’t think you can walk five feet in this place without—”

Chloe didn’t let him finish. She cut him off with a kiss.

Because sometimes, there were better things than words.